


Frame By Frame, We'll Be Ok

by echoist



Series: Show Me Where Trouble Goes [9]
Category: The Following
Genre: AU, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Nesting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoist/pseuds/echoist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I was the match and you were the rock<br/>Maybe we started this fire.</i><br/>Bastille; Things We Lost In The Fire</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frame By Frame, We'll Be Ok

Paul pulls into the parking lot behind the strip club on Nicolai Street and parks near the back, surprised to see that it's still full at this hour. He knows most clubs of that sort are open as late as is legally allowed, but he's still grateful for the crowd, and the rowdy noise spilling out from inside. He pulls his black hoodie, mask and gloves out from a bag in the backseat, slipping his Kevlar beneath it. Removing the silenced .238 from the case on the seat, he pops in a new clip, not knowing what to expect once he's worked his way inside. He gets out of the car and tucks the grip awkwardly into the back of his waistband, figuring it only has to stay in place for a few minutes. Paul walks quickly across the cracked and broken asphalt and past the building, stopping before he actually reaches the street. He pulls his gloves out of his pocket and retraces his steps, keeping to the shadows beneath the upper story walkway.

When he reaches the stairs, Paul ascends slowly, carefully, trying to remain as silent as possible. He knows any accomplices left in the apartment have to be on guard since their cohorts haven't returned with good news. He pauses at each door, listening carefully for sounds of movement from within. He stops at a door marked 'C', hearing the distinctive sound of someone pacing across the floor, followed by angry voices. Paul can make out a few words, something about 'the plan' and 'gone to shit.' He'd place money on this being the one.

The door appears wooden, with hinges that suggest it opens inward, as is standard for most apartment entrances. Paul takes in a deep breath before pulling the ski mask over his head and bracing himself against the wall before raising his right foot. He takes careful aim just above the deadbolt, and kicks hard. It gives, the wood snapping at a vicious angle, and one more hard slam does the job. He pulls out the pistol and steps inside, sliding to the right of the entryway to switch off the lights and kick the door back shut, as far as it will go.

The first man turns in shock and goes down hard from two shots to his chest and midsection, while Paul realises that 'man' isn't exactly the right word. He's a fresh faced young kid, all tousled red hair and freckles, as are the other two in the room. One is darker, mahogany skin and tight curls, and he's the next to fall to Paul's storm of bullets before he can take cover behind a desk crowded with computers and familiar equipment. A third kid turns, his back to the window and holds up his hands as if to forestall Paul's vengeance. He crosses the room, dropping the gun and lifts the kid up by his neck with one hand, moving him out of any bystander's line of sight below. He struggles in Paul's grip, fingers clawing at Paul's arms through the thick cloth, but only succeeds in making Paul angrier.

'Are there any more of you?' Paul hisses between clenched teeth. The kid's eyes are wide and terrified, glancing back and forth in abject panic.

'Just Manny and Jake,' he manages, his voice quaking. 'They left hours ago and didn't report in and-' he coughs at the restriction around his throat. 'Oh god,' he gasps. 'You killed them too, didn't you?'

'They made a mistake,' Paul growls. 'They shot my friend.'

'That's why you're doing this?' he asks, voice high and shaking, breaking over the last word.

'I would have done it anyway,' Paul answers. 'You cut in on someone else's turf, and he's not very happy with you. But then you had to go any make it _personal_.'

'Please,' the kid begs, dirty blonde hair grown down to his chin and sporting a carefully groomed beard. He attempts to knee Paul in the groin, but Paul sidesteps the move and slams him hard against the wall, gratified by the sickening crunch of bone when the back of his head connects with the brick surface. Paul pulls his knife from his jacket pocket and stabs him twice in the stomach. The kid chokes out a groan, hands reaching reflexively to cover the wound.

'I had to take out your friends too quickly,' Paul laments. 'But you? You're going to suffer.' The kid closes his eyes, tears falling to soak his face and catch in his beard. Paul plunges the knife through his chinos straight into his groin and he cries out in pain. Paul moves his hand from the kid's throat to cover his mouth, using the pressure to hold him in place. His feet kick out at Paul's legs, but Paul doesn't feel the impacts, standing firm and immoveable.

He draws the blade slowly, lightly down the kid's face. 'What's your name,' he asks with a cold, eerie calm. The kid mumbles something that sounds like 'Fuck you,' and Paul shrugs. 'I suppose it doesn't really matter, does it?' Paul responds. He lifts the blade to the kid's ear, starting at the top and sawing back and forth to sever it from his head. The kid tries to scream, but Paul makes a fist and shoves it into the kid's mouth to muffle the sound. The bass beat from below is loud enough to drown out most of the sound, anyway, but Paul figures you can never be too careful. It takes several minutes, but the ear eventually drops to the floor, the wound pouring blood down the kid's neck and spattering across the floor. He starts in on the other ear, but the kid goes suddenly limp in his arms, his eyes rolling back before flickering shut.

Paul sighs, and lets him drop to the floor, stabbing him repeatedly in the chest for good measure before slitting his throat nearly down to the bone. It doesn't feel like enough; it could never be enough, but it will have to do. He returns to the other bodies on the floor, checking for a pulse but only finding silence and skin growing cold. He cuts their throats as well, ear to ear, before wiping his blade clean on the red-haired kid's World of Warcraft t-shirt. He collects the gun from the desk and sweeps the apartment before leaving, making sure no one else is hiding out in a closet or bathroom. Thankfully, he finds nothing, and figures he can safely assume he's wiped out the entire operation. Paul trashes the equipment, pilfering a few useful items before dipping his gloved fingertips in the massive pool of blood surrounding the recently deceased Mr. Fuck You and scrawling a sigil on the wall above his body. He'd noticed several gang tags since they'd been in the city, and this one had appeared frequently on signs and abandoned buildings throughout the lower East Side. It's not perfect, but he's fresh out of spray paint, and he figures blood would leave a more memorable impression, anyway.

He removes his mask and slips out the door, closing it as best he can behind him, and slinks down the staircase, out of the radius of light emanating from the two flickering street lamps in the parking lot. The knife is safely tucked away in his pocket, the Sig tucked back beneath his waistband, and he pulls off his gloves, shoving them into his pockets. He walks around to the front of the building, mingling with the crowd as the bouncers are doing their level best to shoo every last patron out the door. Paul keeps walking for three blocks, eventually doubling back to hit the parking lot from the rear and climbs back into the Civic. He carefully removes his hoodie and vest, slipping the gun back into its case and locking it closed before stowing it under the seat. He checks himself in the mirror for blood stains and finds none, grateful that his mask and jacket caught most of the arterial spray from his one live victim. He drives back to the Timberlake, knowing that visiting hours at the hospital have been over for hours, and he'd only have to find another way to sneak back into Jacob's room anyhow.

 

He dials Jacob's number one he's safely back inside the motel room, and he answers with a bleary voice. 'Paul?' Jacob questions, the hope practically bleeding out through his tone.

'It's done,' Paul answers. 'Every last one of those fuckers has gone to meet his maker, and let me assure you, they did not go easy.'

'And you're all right?' Jacob asks, trying to stifle the rising panic Paul can feel through the line.

'I'm fine.' Paul can't help but laugh a little bit at how easy it actually was. He wonders why Gorsek even bothered calling in outside help, unless he didn't think his thugs could handle the job without leaving tell tale evidence behind. César had known him well during his time in Tampa; perhaps it was the man's faith in Paul's abilities that had recommended him to solve this particular problem. 'It was too easy,' Paul continues, and he hears Jacob sigh with relief. 'Just a bunch of college drop outs, not a single useful muscle between the three of them.'

'I'm glad,' Jacob replies, sleep curling out its fingers to reclaim him.

'Get some rest, ok?' Paul advises. 'I'll come by as soon as I can tomorrow, I don't care who I have to kill to get in to see you.'

Jacob laughs a little at that, but Paul can almost hear his eyelids dropping shut. 'Sleep well,' Paul tells him. 'I love you,' he adds, before closing the phone. He wonders for a moment when the words had become so easy to say, but it's not so difficult to figure out. He could have lost Jacob tonight. Lost him to some idiot kids that should have known better than to try to take over an established forger's turf, and the thought sickens him, filling his chest with a hot, ever expanding rage. Even though the responsible parties were dead, he still wants to hurt them, wants to reach out and pull them back from the grave to cut them into pieces and scatter the parts from one end of the city to the other.

Still fuming, he calls Gorsek despite the late hour, his hands shaking as he tries to hold the phone steady. 'Please tell me it is done?' the man asks, sounding thoroughly hassled.

'Oh, it's done,' Paul assures him. 'And you're lucky Jacob's out of surgery and in recovery, or I'd be coming for you, next.'

'There's no need,' Gorsek answers coldly. 'That vermin problem you mentioned? Exterminated.' He heaves out a long-suffering sigh. 'It's so difficult to find good help these days. I suppose I'll just have to fill all of my current orders by myself, until I can recruit higher quality business associates.'

Paul nods in understanding, despite knowing that Gorsek can't see him. 'I'm glad you were able to take care of that particular problem,' he comments. 'Also, should you doubt my end of the deal, I'm sure you'll be able to read all about it in your morning paper.'

'Excellent,' Gorsek replies. 'Now, despite the fact that you dialed the wrong number, I've enjoyed our little chat. However, since we have absolutely nothing in common, I'm going to hang up the phone. Enjoy your stay in our fair city.' Paul hears the click as the line goes dead.

 

Jacob ends up in the hospital for another nine days, eventually moved out of ICU to a room where he can have visitors. Paul collects their gear and spends a while reassuring Grace, still visibly upset and thoroughly discontent at Jacob's absence. He moves them both to a hotel closer to the hospital, and spends visiting hours at Jacob's bedside, even while Jacob sleeps. Paradoxically, the nurses take a strange liking to him, bringing him coffee and snacks from time to time. He knows Jacob's improving when he begins to grow restless, complaining miserably about the quality of hospital food and climbing out of bed to take short walks around the hospital corridors. He misses Grace, but the hospital doesn't allow pets unless they're service animals, and Paul knows she doesn't qualify. When he's not at Jacob's side, Paul takes extra time with her, taking her for long walks at a local park, buying her new toys, and even throwing sticks and frisbees for her to retrieve. He wonders just when he became so attached to the dog, and blames Jacob entirely for the sentiment.

Unbeknownst to Jacob, Paul works out a lengthy payment plan with the staff, and puts the first few installments on his credit card. It's going to be hell to pay off, but he knows they'll manage somehow. Eventually the hospital discharges Jacob on his own recognizance, his shoulder in a figure eight shaped sling, adamant that he continue physical therapy once he gets back 'home.' They both promise to follow through, and after spending another night in Paul's hotel, Jacob snuggling with Grace until she calms down, they head back out on the road again.

Jacob's in no shape to drive, still drugged up on prescription painkillers, so Paul makes the rest of the drive to Seattle on his own. It's only about three hours, through beautiful country, past Sturgeon Lake and St. Helens, several state parks visible to either side of the highway. Jacob spends the trip hovering between sleep and wakefulness, attempting to take a few photos but eventually giving up. Paul assures him that they can come back anytime he'd like to tour the countryside, and Jacob smiles, knowing he means it. Once they hit the suburbs past Tacoma, Paul's amazed at the vast expanses of high, breaking waves to the west, the highway occasionally dropping off sharply to one side to grant an amazing view of the vistas beyond. A cold, misty rain engulfs the city when they finally reach the outskirts of Seattle, and they try several extended stay motels before finding one that will allow Grace on the premises.

Paul's seen plenty of pictures of Seattle, even bought a guidebook from Jacob's favorite used bookstore while they were in San Francisco, but pictures can't do the city justice. It's a beautiful sprawling wonderland of bright lights, fanciful buildings, and amazing views of the Puget Sound. Even through the persistent rain and fog, the city shines, and Paul knows Jacob will be happy here. He lets himself think, just for a moment, that maybe he could be happy here as well.

They play as tourists for a few days, meandering around Pike Place Market and traveling to the top of the Space Needle, where Jacob begins filling a new SD card with as many pictures as he can manage. They visit the aquarium at Jacob's insistence, watching the staff feeding the octopuses and wandering from exhibit to exhibit. Not surprisingly, Paul's favorite parts of the tour are the sixgill shark conservation project and the bizarre deep sea creatures on display.

 

Paul remains frustratingly careful with Jacob, and finds news ways to pleasure him without disturbing his wound. He can tell that it hurts sometimes when he loses what little modicum of control he can manage, but Jacob never complains, not once, his eyes rolling back in his head while Paul's mouth works slowly, steadily down his frame and teases, nipping and biting at every inch of skin he can reach. Jacob thought Paul knew every inch of his body by heart, but he's surprised and amazed to discover that there's still plenty of room for exploration. After nearly two weeks of not being able to touch, to tease, to draw deep, guttural moans from Jacob's mouth, Paul is relentlessly gentle, bringing him to climax again and again with his fingers, his tongue working overtime, his hot wet mouth in all the right places. He pins Jacob down by his hips, his legs, his neck, careful to avoid the wreck of his shoulder while still making Jacob shiver and shake, coming hard in Paul's hands, or mouth, or even sometimes against his stomach when the fire burns all the way down his body and explodes, unexpectedly, unbelievably hard.

In their meanderings around the city, Paul discovers the wonders of Seattle's many coffee bars, his eyes sliding shut in pleasure at the in-house roasted beans and french-pressed mugs of steaming, pitch black liquid caffeine. He mocks Jacob gently for his preference for light roasts and blended frozen concoctions, but Jacob can tell he doesn't mean it, not really. Jacob purchases some cheap swag from here and there, mugs from Pike Place and Bauhaus Books and Coffee Bar, falling head over heels in love with the place. He takes to hanging out there while Paul canvasses the area for work, using Paul's laptop to search for open teaching positions and build his resume to be (hopefully) up to snuff.

They've only been in town for a few days when Paul spies an ad in a local independent paper stocked at Jacob's new favorite hang out, advertising for a small software start up called Thunderbird Security in the recently gentrified Central District, not far from Squire Park. He completes his equally fake resume from the hotel, and drives to their office, a second floor walk up in an aging brownstone. There are only five employees, all fresh faced young kids, but between them they provide hosting services, data back up, and are working on a comprehensive but lightweight security platform marketed to small businesses around town. They look like a co-ed cohort of slacker college students lounging about in a studio apartment, but Paul quickly assesses the talent in the room. They put him through the paces during his interview, testing his skills against their system, and one of them, tall with a curly mess of frizzy brown hair, curses aloud when Paul finds three separate loopholes in their code that could expose their clients' stored data to potential corruption or theft. A freckled red-head named Del, her hair in well-maintained dreadlocks, smirks and mutters, 'I told you so.'

He's hired on the spot, and while his income in the beginning isn't particularly noteworthy, the business steadily grows, thanks in part to his ill-gained abilities with complex systems, and the business gradually becomes a well-known name around town. Paul returns to the hotel every night both amused and annoyed that his not insignificant skills with data mining and cracking security systems wide open are now being put to use for the other side. Still, it's a paycheck, and one they desperately need. An attractive young man named Marc, recently immigrated from French Guiana for school, hits on him repeatedly, much to Paul's annoyance. He stops after meeting Jacob over a few pints, and Paul is immeasurably grateful. The last thing he needs is to ruin a good job with a workplace spat.

 

Jacob follows through on his promise to continue with physical therapy, grateful that Paul's employers have recently acquired a health insurance policy that covers domestic partners. Paul had been willing to fight for the addition, but Del and Marc have his back, and there's little argument on the subject after that. After another month, Jacob's regained enough motion in his shoulder to dispense with the sling. It still aches, and he has a feeling it always will in this climate, but he shrugs it off whenever Paul asks with obvious concern. The wound leaves behind a puckered scar, but strangely, Jacob finds that he doesn't mind. Especially when Paul's tongue flickers over it, biting down gently on the raised skin and sending shock waves of pleasure through Jacob's entire body.

They start looking for more permanent lodgings, and find a loft near Broad St in the South Lake District. It features a perfect view of Lake Union out of several tall, wide windows, and Jacob never realized he could want a home quite so much as he wants this one. There's a full kitchen immediately past a tiny guest bathroom on the left, the appliances aging but still serviceable, separated from the rest of the space with a polished wooden counter top. There's still plenty of space for a table and other furniture before reaching the wall of windows. The entire right edge of the room is rough-faced brick, and the previous inhabitants kindly left behind several custom-made bookshelves attached securely to the walls. A narrow staircase leads up to a small platform above the rest of the room, a curtain rack hanging from the ceiling to help block off space for a private bedroom.

The full bathroom, while small, is clean and open with room for easy improvements, and Jacob points out excitedly where Paul could set up a small office, even cordon it off from the living area if he feels the need. There are plenty of jacks and power outlets, and Jacob can't help but begin to imagine warm lights and furniture filling the room. It's as good a location as they're likely to find, and thanks to his first paycheck, Paul has enough cash on hand to pay the deposit and the first month's rent. It's a risk, signing a lease with only one of them employed, but Jacob knows his fake degree covers a lot of the preparatory work he'd otherwise have to complete at another university before qualifying for the job he wants. It's lazy, almost too easy, and it feels luxurious to wallow in the fruits of Paul's labor. They move in as soon as the paperwork's finalized, Jacob breathing a sigh of relief when their manufactured background holds up.

Grace loves the new place, sniffing out every inch of it, and even catching the occasional mouse that pops up with swift, vicious snaps of her jaws. Jacob has to train her out of the habit of dropping her kills at his feet, still uncomfortable with harming animals despite their extracurricular activities. They buy her a real bed, and most of the time she's content to sleep downstairs, protectively guarding the front door. There's even a park nearby, usually full of children, and Grace flops over happily on her belly to let them cover her with attention. 

They change their address with the DMV, earning them new, official state licenses and even file their tag registration on time like perfect citizens. Paul discreetly sells the property in Bellingham to a company that flips houses and sells them for obscene prices, and makes a decent profit off the scam.

They open a joint account at a local bank with a fairly minimal balance, preferring to keep some of their cash stashed elsewhere in the loft. They find a few cheap rugs at a secondhand shop, a pair of worn stools for the bar, and end up sleeping on a double thick air mattress for months, preferring to be as frugal as possible until they both have decent jobs.

It's not exactly uncomfortable, in fact the mattress gives better rest than a lot of the motels they stayed in on the road. The only problem Jacob can see (and it isn't a problem, not really) is how often they roll off the buoyant surface and end up tangled together on the wooden floor. Rearranging the rugs results in carpet burn instead of splinters, and Jacob can't tell which is worse. He'd rather think about how it feels to be held down, flat on his back, no cushion beneath, just the hard scrape of friction as Paul pulls his hips against him and enters Jacob again and again. The way the beams and pipes of the ceiling overhead disappear in a sea of black stars as he comes without even being touched, his arms held over his head, or down at his side. Jacob doesn't mind either way; he dreams about both and wakes up searching for contact, pulling Paul down against him and kissing him until they're both out of breath.

 

They get around to buying curtains for the windows after Paul's first paycheck.

 

They're not wealthy by any means, but after a while they're comfortable enough, and Jacob spends his days studying, playing with Grace and generally keeping the house in order. They take turns cooking meals at Paul's insistence, remembering all too well Jacob's heated question back in Norfolk. No, Jacob certainly isn't anyone's wife, or husband, for that matter. They're separate enough and yet together, all they can be to one another, and Paul hopes that will be enough. In quiet moments he allows himself to daydream about taking their relationship one step further, a step that would mean rings and official seals on a peace of paper, but he never brings it up. If Jacob said no, he doesn't think he could stand the fallout.

After a few months of study and preparation, Jacob finally makes it through the numerous state-facilitated exams and earns the requisite Resident Teaching Certificate required for teachers in Washington State. After that, it's easy; the local schools are desperate to provide for an ever expanding student load, and he has his pick from a variety of lower grades. Jacob takes a position at Washington Middle school, covering English and a generalized study of world History. There are plenty of teacher's guides online, and he's had more than enough time to brush up on his literature and grammar during his dull and frustrating period of unemployment. It turns out to be easier than he thought it would be, a bit worried about managing a classroom full of older kids, but definitely less exhausting than chasing around an ebullient group of second-graders all day. He has homework to grade and tests to make, but he tries to keep his lessons as entertaining as possible, and before long he's a favorite at the school.

He takes the bus at first, but once Paul feels more financially solvent, they decide to buy a second car to accommodate their vastly different schedules. Jacob makes his choice with care, finding a mostly restored '76 Duster, and shells out the cash from his first paycheck for a good detailing. It's black, and the kids at school tease him mercilessly for driving such an old boat, until he takes it for a swing around the empty parking lot after school's let out for the day. He earns a few respectful nods, and after that the mockery dies down.

Thunderbird Security Solutions gains steady ground in the local market, doubling in size within only six months thanks largely to his work on their primary software package. Three months later they move into a larger space with a real sign out front, in a significantly nicer part of town. Paul's salary makes a considerable jump, given his programming contributions – and the fact that he's their only network security expert, gradually making himself entirely indispensable. He quietly begins paying off the rest of Jacob's medical bills, never letting on to Jacob just how much his stay in the hospital actually cost.

They buy a real bed for the upper loft, and enough weighted blackout curtains to thoroughly conceal the area from view. Jacob picks out the headboard, solid metal with a tooled diamond pattern, the gaps just large enough to allow for ropes, handcuffs, or anything else Paul might decide to use. The dull ache in his shoulder only adds to his pleasure at being restrained, and Jacob wonders how he could have ever gone so long in his life without knowing what he really craved. There are times when he thinks Paul can read his mind, knowing exactly what he wants, what he needs, and how to get him there.

The first time Paul brings home a bag of plastic zip ties, Jacob has to wear a large faced watch to school the next day, tying the colorful woven band from Tampa around the opposite wrist. He can still feels the bruises beneath, right down to his bones and he shivers in the empty space of his classroom after the dismissal bell, running one finger around and underneath the leather. He relives the moment over and over until a fellow teacher knocks on his door, interrupting his revery with a curious look. That night, Jacob goes out for beers with his coworkers for the first time, swapping stories about their kids and the frustrations and rewards of educating young minds, never mind the shenanigans they put up with in the mean time. Jacob feels the warmth of acceptance glowing in his chest, settling in his stomach as he chats easily with a group of people who take him at face value, and find him interesting enough to enjoy his company.

His collection of scarves grows, wearing them with sweaters and button down shirts even when he doesn't have to, making the days when he does all the less noticeable. Paul never again leaves another set of bruises quite so vivid against his neck as that night in New Mexico, but there are marks all over Jacob's body that scream Paul's name even louder than he does in the night, and he's never felt more free than when he's surrendered entirely to Paul's control.

 

Jacob buys a top of the line photograph printer and begins editing his work to display on the walls. He builds collages, grouping together similar themes and arranging them in artistic clusters. Most of the pictures he's captured of Paul line the walls of their bedroom, but Paul convinces Jacob to hang some of their tourist photos downstairs, genuine smiles on both their faces lighting up the space.

 

One night Paul rises from their bed after a particularly athletic round of exercise and packs a small leather bag, dressing in dark clothing and a new pair of leather gloves. He kisses Jacob on the cheek before he goes, promising to be home in a few hours. 'Leave a light on for me?' he asks, a lump in his throat, and Jacob runs his fingers down Paul's arm before nodding. He falls asleep in the comforting blue glow of a blown-glass lamp downstairs near the windows, and wakes to the sound of Paul rubbing vigorously at his skin in the shower.

At first, it's a habit; Paul leaving in the dead of night and returning a few hours later, smelling of sweat and blood. Jacob rarely asks, and Paul never seems eager to share. As time goes by, he succumbs to the thrill less and less often, but in the way of addiction, the need never quite leaves his blood. Jacob gives up thumbing through the obituaries and only reads the news for current events relevant to his lessons at school. He trusts Paul, completely, and knows without a doubt that he would never do anything to risk their safety here. He'd signed on for this, every part of it, when they left Virginia far behind.

The monster beneath Paul's skin isn't gone, and never will be, but that only makes Jacob love him all the more. Sometimes, when it's a weekend and Paul can't suppress the urge any longer, Jacob rides along, cruising past the suburbs and out into the smaller towns like Arlington and Gold Bar. They've started bringing along sheets of plastic and a shovel, burying their kills in isolated state parks and National Forests, of which there are no shortage within driving range. Sometimes it's a hiker, headphones in, music turned up too loud to hear Paul approaching from the brush. Sometimes it's a business man out too late on the streets, or a junkie blissed out on heroin in a back alley.

Paul branches out, bringing along gags and ties, using a thin, ball peen hammer to subdue his victims or a scalpel, peeling back the skin to drag his fingers through the soft tissue beneath. There's nothing quite like the snap of fragile bones as he works his way through the rib cage, plunging his hands into the cavities below. He loves the sensation of holding a heart in his hands while it slowly stutters to a halt, his victim's eyes, once wide with pain, slowly clouding over with the unmistakable haze of death.

Jacob proves a quick study, fastening the ties around wrists and ankles, binding their mouths to prevent any sound from traveling too far. He loves the sight, watching Paul revel in his work and cleaning him up afterward before making their way back to the loft where a warm shower awaits them. The sex is amazing in the aftermath, Paul splitting Jacob open without a thought for gentleness or the pain he might cause. When Jacob cries out, it's with overwhelming pleasure, his mouth working to form words that add up to _yes, like that_ and _please_ and _do it again_.

 

They begin making friends, cautiously at first, and at Jacob's insistence. It begins with neighbors in the building, but gradually their circle widens to include fellow teachers from Jacob's school and a few friendly parents. They meet Amy Guillory, an art teacher at Franklin High through a young couple one floor down, and her immediate love for Grace wins Jacob over. She wears her naturally dark hair in a short bob, inventing new styles of make up to suit her wardrobe nearly every day, and sports a variety of ridiculous, spur of the moment tattoos hidden beneath her work clothes. Amy's paintings are beautiful and shockingly violent, and she's never sold a single one. She seems entirely constructed from sass and vinegar, and she introduces them to some of the more interesting nightspots in town. Her girlfriend, Naomi, seems a bit shy at first, but warms up to them both after a few casual nights of wine and shared stories in their loft. Jacob's initial guilt at lying through his teeth begins to fade in the presence of those who enjoy his stories, and he continues to embellish, providing more and more details about their lives together with only slight alterations.

Naomi falls in love with Jacob's photography, and insists that he publish a book. She's an editor at a small publishing house in the city, and swears that her company would love to have such an accomplished artist on their client list. Jacob blushes, feigning embarrassment at her compliments, but he's secretly delighted. It takes several months, and a lot of re-editing, not to mention writing descriptions of the photographs and his process while taking them, but when he holds the book in his hands, every bit of hair pulling and cursing at the computer screen proves worth it. It's a gorgeous hardcover coffee table book, featuring primarily his shots of abandoned and forgotten places dotting the American Southwest. The publishing house decides to call it _Americana Lost_ , and he decides he likes it enough not to argue. Before long, he's invited to a gallery show, and his prints sell faster than he can pump them out.

Amy insists they accompany her to drag and burlesque shows around town, and Jacob brings in some extra income by photographing for the scene under a pseudonym. Naomi makes an excellent drag king, and fascinated by her performance, Jacob sees her in an entirely new light. He begins to understand why someone as ebullient and unconventional as Amy has been enamored of her for nearly eight years. His photographs appear on the club's websites, and he wonders if one day he might be able to publish a second book in an entirely different vein. He certainly wouldn't mind the profits. Their life in Seattle builds little by little, until Jacob can barely remember the days in Norfolk, much less his life before Paul.

Paul goes out more often for beers with his fellows from his office, and Jacob still occasionally tags along, though he never really understands the flow of conversation between programmers. It's strange, feeling at home among ordinary people, but he finds he can only stand it for so long before he wants to get back home and have Paul all to himself. They get invited to parties and even weddings, and all Jacob can ever think of is getting Paul out of his tuxedo once the ceremony is over.

 

Jacob follows Amy to a pottery class one day, and declares it a miserable failure. 'An artistic experiment,' she corrects, displaying his lopsided coffee mug on the kitchen counter. Paul surprises Jacob a few days later by coming home from a walk with Grace in the park with an armload of driftwood, and disappears up to the roof for a few hours with knives of varying width. He returns with a figure that looks vaguely like a wolf, and Jacob can't help but be impressed by his work. Paul squints, regarding it with a critical eye, and decides he's going to need a lot more practice.

Practice he does, improving his technique greatly in a short span of time, and even fashions a small end table completely out of found wood and sea glass with a few pieces of rented equipment from the local hardware store. After a while, Paul doesn't mind Jacob watching him while he works, and Jacob can't help but stare at those long, perfect fingers working the knife just so. Amy thinks he should sell his work, which expands to include lamp bases, a computer desk and a variety of carved, predatory beasts. Paul declines every time she brings it up, and Jacob can't help but feel flattered that he wants to keep his projects solely for them. He begins making detailed, intricate frames for Jacob's new photographs, works of art in themselves, and with each new picture he hangs up, Jacob feels their partnership grow on an entirely different wavelength. Jacob knows that Paul's sublimating, working out his desires on lifeless wood instead of the human canvass, but he also knows it won't hold out forever.

 

The news breaks in early January. It's a big story even on the west coast; notorious serial killer Joe Carroll escaping from prison, only to kidnap his big fish, the one that got away, and finish his work. Jacob's stomach twists at the news, trying to reconcile the Sarah he knew with the grisly headlines in the papers. He doesn't have to pretend shock and horror while discussing the news with his co-workers and friends; he remembers her, so vibrant and full of life, but forever terrified of reliving her experience at Joe's hands. Now she has, violently, horrifically; she's gone, and paradoxically, Joe has surrendered and returned to custody. This was it? This was the grand design?

Jacob didn't think it was possible to be more grateful for their successful escape, but he finds that blessed thankfulness welling up inside him more and more with each passing day. Paul shrugs off the news, preferring to ignore it in favor of their life outside the cult, but Jacob spends his evenings glued to the television. He recognizes Emma as if from a former life, or like a celebrity he met once before being summarily dismissed. She's kidnapped Joe's son, as she was always meant to do, and now the FBI's brought in Ryan Hardy, just as Joe knew they would. The drama unfolds, each day bringing new updates of the terror gripping Virginia and the surrounding areas, and Jacob watches it like a serialized program; as if it's a poorly written television series badly in need of an editor. Not for the first time, he's glad to have left Joe's book and every copy of Poe's works 3,000 miles away.

He watches as the cult gradually falls apart, more and more members that he hadn't even been aware of being killed in shoot outs with the police, or taking their own lives. When the news finally breaks that Joe Carroll is dead, killed in a fiery explosion near a light house, he breathes a sigh of relief. Some part of him still doubts that Joe could actually be dead, but Jacob wishes it with all his heart. If Joe is gone, really, truly gone, that severs the last link to their former lives. Even though that life brought him to Paul, even if he owes everything about his new life to his erstwhile mentor, he feels no remorse for the man's end.

'Really?' Paul says, leaning over the back of the couch to rub Jacob's shoulder. 'He took Claire to a lighthouse? It's like he was _asking_ for it.' Jacob can't help but agree, and wonder if Joe eventually succumbed to the inevitable, preferring to go out with a bang instead of a whimper.

Paul grabs the remote and clicks off the television, sliding down next to Jacob on the couch. His hands roam across Jacob's chest, down to the bottom of his t-shirt and slip beneath the fabric, leaning in to kiss him gently, tenderly on the lips. Jacob returns the kiss with interest, pleased when Paul's lips part to allow him access, exploring the contours he knows so well. Paul pulls the t-shirt over Jacob's head, and pushes him down against the cushions, something predatory and fierce in his gaze. His tongue flicks across Jacob's nipples, thumbs running down the sides of his ribcage to dip into the hollows of his hips. Paul's mouth moves up to lick and suck delicately at his collarbone, feeling the metal bar just beneath the skin. He's learned that while pressure against the bone is uncomfortably painful for Jacob, a few licks and nibbles around the edges drive him wild.

Paul circles his tongue around the nearly star-shaped scar left by the bullet, biting down at the raised tissue and making Jacob hiss, his hips bucking up in answer. Paul pulls his own shirt over his head and lowers himself back down, pining Jacob's hands to the cool leather cushions. Jacob writhes and moans in Paul's grasp, growing harder by the minute as Paul finds his mouth once more and kisses him until he's breathless. Jacob slides out of his track pants, the stack of papers on the coffee table forgotten as Paul moves against him, rubbing against the newly exposed skin. Jacob pushes Paul's hands on his arms away, grasping for balance against the back of the couch while he opens the button on Paul's jeans and slides down the zipper, feeling his erection beneath. Between them, they push and pull at the tight fabric until it slips away over his feet and Paul kicks the jeans down onto the floor. Jacob reaches down and pulls off Paul's socks, a detail that usually ends up forgotten, but right now he wants all of Paul, every inch of him, naked and pressing against his skin.

Paul slides his hands along Jacob's cock, loving that he's taken to going commando around the house, knowing that he does it for easier access and the hope of attention. It works every time. Jacob groans, pushing up against Paul's skilled hands, coming back down to earth after a moment to tug at Paul's briefs until they've slid down far enough for Paul to kick them away. Paul's hand wraps around the back of Jacob's neck and pulls him up, pulls him in closer, and kisses the life out of him while he lines up their hips, thrusting hard and fast. Jacob fumbles for the knob on one of the coffee table drawers, find a nearly empty bottle of lube stashed in the back behind a stack of magazines and general clutter, and reaches down to slick Paul's cock from base to tip.

Paul grins at the sensation, grabbing the bottle and coating his fingers before stroking Jacob's cock teasingly, the slick slide making Jacob's eyes roll back in abject pleasure. Paul adds a second coating to three fingers and teases Jacob's hole, pleased at how it opens to him so easily now, stretched wide from practice and waiting. Jacob's skin practically hums, waiting for the penetration he needs, feeling the deep, aching want down to his bones. Paul presses in all three fingers at once and Jacob cries out, half in pain, half in something else, something indescribable and bears down hard. Paul's fingers slide inside, finding his prostate with ease and teasing, stroking quickly across it once, twice, before withdrawing. Jacob's knees are bent, his legs spread wide as he raises his hips for Paul, his lips quivering with desire.

Paul lines himself up and slides in, quick and easy, making Jacob take all of him at once. Jacob claws at Paul's shoulders, leaving scratch marks in his skin, unable to make a sound beyond incoherent grunts. Paul rocks back and forth, in and out, and Jacob manages to match his pace, his eyes wide and staring, trying to focus on Paul's face. He watches the sweat drip down his brow, sees the muscles in his arms contract as he holds himself above Jacob's prone body, and feels, oh, how he feels the sweet, furious pressure inside him. Paul doesn't try to go slow, not wanting to make it last, thrusting over and over again, harder with each stroke. Jacob cries out, his back arching off the couch as Paul bends forward, trapping Jacob's cock between them. With each push, Paul's abdominal muscles rub against him, and Jacob's nearly there, already lost between the dual sensations racing across his nerves and setting his body aflame. He comes, hard, hips bucking wildly against Paul, who pushes them back down, holding Jacob in place until he finishes. Jacob's still shuddering through the aftershocks when Paul finds release, spilling deep inside Jacob and working his way through it, continuing to thrust until the spasms subside.

He collapses against Jacob's body, come and sweat mingling between them, and neither of them mention the story on the news as Jacob wraps his arms around Paul and holds him close. It's a solid two hours before they wake up, grateful for the easy cleanup the material beneath them provides, and they climb into the shower together, gently washing one another clean. Paul holds Jacob beneath the water and whispers against his skin, over and over. 'I want you,' he murmurs. 'I need you.'

'I love you,' Jacob whispers against his mouth, kissing him long and deep, letting the water run down their cheeks and spill into their mouths.

 

Amy bangs on their door one spring night during dinner, positively humming with excitement. 'There's a job opening at Franklin,' she tells Jacob eagerly. 'One of their English teachers is retiring at the end of the semester. You have to go for it,' she exclaims. 'Haven't you always said you wanted to teach Lit to older kids? They've got honors and AP courses there, too, you'd be brilliant!'

Paul fixes her a plate of Pad Thai from the stove and brings it to the table, along with some silverware. She digs right in, looking back up at Jacob who's still sitting in the same spot, his mouth slightly open. He glances over at Paul, who grins and ruffles his hair. 'They'd be lucky to have you,' he comments, slurping up a forkful of noodles.

'I'll write you a letter of recommendation,' Amy promises. 'You'd probably have to pass another series of exams, but they hold sessions over the summer, so you'll be good in time for fall. Not to mention,' she adds, poking a fork in the direction of Jacob's framed diploma. 'How many applicants do you think they're going to get with a double major in English and Education from _Berkeley_?'

Jacob smiles slowly, thinking it over. He'd be a bit nervous about moving up to high school, of course, but the rewards of being able to leave grammar lessons behind and teach literature instead would more than make up for his jitters. Despite his faux degree, he's learned more than enough from his students over the past year to make up for it. His love for teaching has only grown since their time in Seattle, and though he knows that his double life after dark should at least cause friction, if not utter cognitive dissonance, he realises that it doesn't. He can be who he is, and love Paul for who _he_ is in return, while still enjoying the benefits of a 'normal' life on the surface. It shouldn't work, should never have worked, but it does and the burning coals it leaves in his chest never seem to die out.

 

Jacob decides to apply, and he passes his exams with flying colors. He's sad to leave his old school behind, but teaching high school English is the most exciting challenge he's ever faced. He starts out at the honors level, but after several months there's already talk of moving him up to teach an AP class as well, and he couldn't be more thrilled. He teaches World Literature, and loves every minute of it, thrilled that his students actually _want_ to learn instead of goofing off, texting their friends, or throwing crumpled up pieces of paper across the room. He spends weeks on Shakespeare and Chaucer, letting his students act out some of the more pivotal scenes, and even shows films like Zeffirelli's Romeo and Juliet and Branagh's various Shakespearean adaptations once they've finished covering the plays. Not a single student falls asleep, and he catches many of them taking notes. He's happier and more fulfilled than he ever thought possible, and despite spending most of his evenings grading essays and lengthy papers, he wouldn't trade it for the world. A position opens teaching French to a small group of advanced students and he volunteers, enjoying every minute of it. The class only meets twice a week for a two hour block, and before long, he's teaching the class entirely in French and introducing them to modern classics of French literature. He enjoys the raise in pay as well, and before long, he and Paul are comfortably well off.

 

It takes a while to sink in that they're finally safe, that their lives are real and solid as the ground beneath their feet. They listen infrequently to a police scanner that Paul found at a military surplus store, just to convince themselves that they aren't on anyone's radar. From time to time, when the rain and chill get to be too much for Paul, they talk about moving to San Francisco, but it's years before they ever take the idea seriously. Vacations in Mexico or Europe come up first, Jacob having always wanted to go back to Paris, as well as visit Rome and Barcelona, and they begin to sock away money for the possibility. Seattle remains their home, and privately, never voiced aloud but still communicated through touch and knowing smiles, neither of them would trade that surety for anything the rest of the world might have to offer. From the outside, to their friends and coworkers, their lives seem routine, if blissfully happy. Perfect and yet unremarkable, and Jacob wouldn't have it any other way.

Sometimes when they fuck, Jacob can still feel the blood on Paul's hands, moving across his skin even after he's washed it clean. He feels it sinking down into his skin, worming its way into his muscles and bones, and Jacob knows it won't be long before he's no longer content to stand back and watch. Paul feels the shift like a spark between them, and smiles up into the darkness, waiting for the monster he can feel hatching from its cocoon to reveal itself. He's content to let Jacob grow into the role, a new electricity shooting through his veins as the thought unfurls and expands beneath his ribs. Lying next to Jacob in the early hours before the dawn, Paul wraps his arms tightly around him, waiting for their new chapter to begin.

~ _fin_ ~ 

 

_'We shall not cease from exploration_   
_And the end of all our exploring_   
_Will be to arrive where we started_   
_And know the place for the first time._

_. . ._

_Quick now, here, now, always-_   
_A condition of complete simplicity_   
_(Costing not less than everything)_

_T.S. Eliot, Little Gidding V,_ _ Four Quartets _ _._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with this story until the very end! <3 <3
> 
> Your kudos and comments along the way kept me writing, and I'm glad I could give something to our tiny fandom.


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